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  • Brunette enough to rest my head on the back desk and compare the colors of outside tree bark with my the limbs of my hair.

    Swiftly draws the breeze, playing gracefully off my ankles, through the thin hair of the blonde across the room, along the nape of my neck.

    I stifle laughter and lean back again, trying to make it look like I’m not staring, try to make it look like math is more important than sunlight on cracking asphalt and vibrant car roofs.

    A pencil clicks and a foot taps noiselessly on a metal desk basket. My skin is on fire. All nerves, all the noise in my brain screaming for movement.

    “Unhand the girl”
    though I was safe, and actually quite comfortable, with hands wrapped around my waist accompanied by the bittersweet scent of pine trees and grass, high altitude air and soil.

    My mind wanders to other things. Food, summer, sleep. Sleep. The bliss of rest.
    The sun on the pavement slows my thought process to a lull.

    The light, fragrant smell of perfume drifts around the room and my eyelids droop against Pythagorean drone.
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